


i am teaching myself how to be free

by seren_ccd



Category: Willow (1988)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 03:56:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17036174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren_ccd/pseuds/seren_ccd
Summary: “I cut my hair when I was four,” Sorsha says.  “I stole a knife from the kitchen and cut it all off.  It looked dreadful. Uneven and the odd bald patch.”Madmartigan frowns.  “Why?”Sorsha looks down at Ellora Dannon, who is looking up at her with far more trust that Sorsha thinks is prudent.  “Mother wanted a boy.”Sorsha tries to come to terms with her actions in the aftermath. Sorsha/Madmartigan, post-movie.





	i am teaching myself how to be free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [templeandarche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/templeandarche/gifts).



> This was such a great prompt and gave me the perfect excuse for a re-watch of Willow! I hope you enjoy! I owe a massive Thank You to aj for the brilliant beta. The title is from Florence and the Machines 'Various Storms & Saints'.

“Her hair is getting longer.”

Sorsha smiles as Madmartigan wraps one of Ellora’s red curls twice around his finger and she says, “Well, hair tends to do just that. Grow longer. As I imagine you well know.”

He flashes her that quick, warm grin that always manages to warm her insides (And oh, is this how it’s always going to be between them? Flashes of warmth and comfort that threaten to undo her at every turn?) as he says, “As you well know yourself. Soon her hair will be as long as yours.”

A memory surges into Sorsha’s mind: the tug of a dull blade through her own red hair, the way the strands tickled her toes as they fell to the floor, the amused smirk on her mother’s face when she saw what Sorsha had done to herself.

“Sorsha?” Madmartigan’s voice pulls her out of her memory and into the present. The easy glow from the fire, the warm blankets under her, and the soft laughter and funny shrieks of an infant fill her senses. The welcome weight of Madmartigan’s regard as he looks at her, a tinge of worry creeping in at the edges of his eyes brings her around completely and a tiny chink in her armour opens a bit more.

“I cut my hair when I was four,” Sorsha says. “I stole a knife from the kitchen and cut it all off. It looked dreadful. Uneven and the odd bald patch.”

He frowns. “Why?”

Sorsha looks down at Ellora Dannon, who is looking up at her with far more trust that Sorsha thinks is prudent. “Mother wanted a boy.”

Her mother had stared at her, ignoring the nanny who was whimpering beside Sorsha, most likely terrified for her fate for letting Sorsha do such a thing. But Bavmorda had just smirked and plucked a shorn lock off Sorsha’s shoulder, then said, “I do wonder what lengths you’ll go to next, my daughter.”

Her laughter filled the room as she walked past Sorsha and carried on her way. Sorsha never cut her hair again. Instead, she found other ways to please her mother. Other ways that...

Ellora’s little hand grips Sorsha’s tightly and Sorsha cannot help but smile a little as she shakes her head. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.”

Madmartigan reaches out and wraps one of Sorsha’s red curls around his finger and says, “Yes. It does.”

Sorsha closes her eyes and revels in the warmth she feels. The first warmth she thinks she’s ever felt.

* * *

Days pass and Tiras Lin shakes off the shadows of the curse. Fin Rizel helps them find their way out of the dark and Madmartigan helps them gain back their strength. Sorsha…

Sorsha stays quiet. She’s not idle, far from it, but she holds her tongue and she does her best not to draw attention to herself. This is no easy feat as Ellora has seemingly claimed Sorsha as her full-time guardian. It’s both wonderful and agonising to care for this little girl who, for the first few months of her life, Sorsha swore to find and destroy.

It feels like a blessing and a curse and Sorsha knows that she has a very, very long way to go if she ever hopes to achieve something close to atonement.

So, she stays quiet and helps in every way she can. She’s never been afraid to get her hands dirty (and oh, are her hands shamefully filthy with acts she hates to remember), so she helps in the fields, the kitchens, the armoury, and even with the horses. When she isn’t working, she’s with Ellora, revelling in her happy smiles.

But the past is always with us, or so they say, and one day when she walks into the kitchen to help with preserving the winter stores, silence falls when she enters the room. Prior to her entrance, the space had been loud, nearly boisterous, but upon her entry, everyone and everything goes still as stone.

It’s not the first time.

Nor, she’s certain, will it be the last.

Sorsha does her best to ignore the furtive looks that straddle the line between fear and resentment and gets on with her tasks. However, she leaves earlier than she’d planned and knows it’s the right decision when she feels nothing but relief from the others as she exits the kitchen.

Her own relief is staggering as she escapes to her rooms. She dismisses Ellora’s nanny with a sharp word and regrets it immediately, but she cannot help who she is and what she’s done. Sorsha sinks to the ground beside Ellora’s crib and closes her eyes as she focusses on Ellora’s soft breathing as she sleeps. 

The inescapable fact is that it _hurts_. Every time the room goes cold and quiet, every time she sees the fear in their eyes, an ache spreads in her chest and the worst part is that she _cannot blame them for it_. If she was in their place, she probably would’ve challenged herself with every sword at her disposal. A different sort of ache spreads when she realises that these people would never do such a thing. She’s so different and so damaged and she rubs at her chest.

A few moments later, Madmartigan enters the room abruptly, and Sorsha jumps to her feet, small knife in hand, her body tense and her eyes sharp.

He raises his hands slowly. “It’s just me, Sorsha. And I don’t think I’ve done anything lately that requires that.” He pauses and frowns. “Wait. Have I?”

“No,” she says with a weak laugh. “No, you ridiculous man, you haven’t. Or at least I haven’t heard anything.”

He grins. “Good. What’s wrong? Rizel sent me up here. Says you needed me.”

“I don’t,” she says, sitting back down on the floor. “I’m fine. Go back to...whatever you were doing.”

“Polishing swords,” he says. “And before you bite my head off, I’m not being crude, I was in the armoury. I’d rather be here than down there.”

“I feel honoured,” she says with a sigh.

He studies her and she doesn’t bother to hide her anxiety and worries; the man is infuriatingly good at figuring her out. Eventually, he nods and after a quick look and smile at Ellora’s sleeping form, he sits beside Sorsha.

She holds out for at least a full minute before she leans against him, his arm lifting to accommodate her as he pulls her close.

“They stop speaking when I enter the room,” she says quietly.

“Ah.” He presses his lips to the top of her head. “They do that to me, too.”

“Yes, but they do that to you because they like you and because you’re unpredictable. They have no idea what you’ll do next, but they know it’ll be entertaining.” She closes her eyes. “They stop speaking because they fear me.”

“Sorsha--”

“I’ve given them every reason in the world to do so,” she continues. “Do you know I was here when mother cursed them?”

He stills. “You were? You must have been a child.”

“Eight,” she says. “Or thereabouts.”

Madmartigan pulls her even closer and she breathes in the scent of him, oil and steel and that bloody black root.

“She wanted me to see how powerful she was,” she says. “So that I understood what she was capable of. She wanted me to see how she punished those who stood against her.” Sorsha opens her eyes and turns her head to look at Ellora through the slats of her crib. “Some of the older ones didn’t survive it. The curse was too strong and quite literally broke their hearts. The same for some of the younger children. And I stood by and let it happen.”

“You were a child,” he says.

“But I grew up, didn’t I?” she counters calmly. “And I still did nothing. Until a mad man under a spell spouted poetry at me and a Nelwyn showed me what it meant to possess true courage.”

“You changed, Sorsha,” he says. “Please believe that.”

“I don’t know if it’s enough,” she says and the ache in her chest intensifies. The entire situation is insupportable. Sorsha? A mother? A benevolent leader? With a former criminal by her side? “Oh, what are we doing?”

He shifts their position so that he can look her in the eyes. “Thought that was fairly obvious. You’re in distress and I’m being, um, supportive?”

She can’t help but laugh at him. “We’re parents. Us. I can’t think of two people more unsuited for this. We don’t exactly come from stable circumstances.”

“No. No, we really, really don’t,” he says chuckling. “But, we’d die for her. That’s got to count for something.”

_I would_ , Sorsha thinks. _I would absolutely die for Ellora Dannon._

“I suppose,” she says slowly.

“And do you really think Willow would have left us had he not thought we’d manage?” he adds.

“Well,” Sorsha says smiling. “There is that.” But, her smile fades. “The others, though… They despise me. And I don’t blame them.”

“Don’t go,” he says softly.

She frowns at him. “Pardon?”

“I know about the bag of supplies and clothes you keep hidden in the back of the wardrobe,” he says, as he cups the side of her face. “Please don’t leave.”

She copies his gesture and cups the side of his face, his stubble tickling her palm. “I know that you know. Just like you know that I know about your own bag of supplies that you keep hidden in the stables.”

“Actually, I didn’t know that you knew,” he replies blinking before his crooked grin appears. “But I suppose I should’ve.”

Sorsha pulls his face to her and kisses him softly. “I won’t go if you don’t.”

“Deal,” he says smiling, and he pulls her in for another kiss, this one deeper and full of promises that both terrify and delight her.

A cheerful cry breaks them apart, and they look over to see Ellora awake and waving her arms in the air. 

“Afternoon, lazy girl,” Madmartigan says grinning. 

Ellora gives another happy cry at the sound of his voice, but her face falls and Sorsha immediately recognises Ellora’s ‘I have a dirty set of rags’ cry.

“Oh, dear,” Sorsha says picking Ellora up. “Poor wee girl. Let’s get you all tidy, shall we?”

She feels Madmartigan watching her as she sets Ellora to rights and when by the time she finishes, he’s joined her, his body a shield of warmth at her back.

The smile Sorsha aims at Ellora freezes when Madmartigan presses his mouth and murmurs against her skin, “You do know you’re not your mother? Don’t you?”

Chills spill down her spine even as she nods with a confidence she doesn’t entirely feel. “Of course, I do.”

“Sorsha.”

The tone of his voice makes her turn to meet his eyes, and he places his hand over hers where it keeps Ellora from tumbling off the bed. His eyes are as crisp and clear as they’ve ever been and he repeats, “You are not your mother, Sorsha. Not even close.”

“I wanted to be,” she whispers. “I wanted her _love_. Even when I know she wasn’t capable of it, I wanted it. I wanted to excel and be everything she wanted me to be. I _killed_ for her, Madmartigan.” She looks away from him and down at Ellora. For a moment she can see the blood from Ellora’s birth on her hands and fights back the urge to retch. Sorsha’s love for Ellora wars with her internal despair. “I held this child in my hands after she was born and was utterly, _utterly_ complicit in the order to have her killed. _An infant._ ”

Ellora is quiet as she looks up at Sorsha who knows that one day, she’ll have to explain her role in Ellora’s fate. 

“She’ll hate me,” Sorsha says quietly. “Like they all hate me. And her hatred will be completely justified.”

Madmartigan breathes in deeply before he says, “Maybe. Maybe she will. If she does, what will you do? Leave?”

“If she asks me to.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll still protect her with every fibre of my being,” she says as Ellora grabs ahold of her finger. “Even if she sends me away, I’ll still protect her every way that I can.”

“Which proves my point,” he says sliding his arms around her waist, pressing his mouth once again to her throat. “You aren’t your mother, Sorsha. Far from it.”

Sorsha draws in a deep breath. “I know. In this moment, right now, as we stand here…I know.”

“Well, anytime you forget,” he says. “Come find me. I’ll remind you.”

“You just like hearing yourself talk,” she says, laughing. 

“True,” he says as he kisses his way up the length of her throat to her mouth. Sorsha smiles against his lips when Ellora giggles up at them. He raises his head and looks down Ellora. “Does someone else want kisses?”

Sorsha’s laughter joins Ellora’s as Madmartigan kisses the little girl’s cheeks and chubby hands, and for the next few moments, she allows herself something close to grace.


End file.
